


On the Origin of Species

by dragonofdispair



Series: Shiny [8]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, Gen, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Not-Really a Crossover, Origin Story, Virtual Reality, baby AIs, my little pony - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-03 01:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8691661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonofdispair/pseuds/dragonofdispair
Summary: Motive doesn’t just slag predictive software, it slags up all sorts of other software too. An origin story.(OR: “Jazz! Prowl! How the frag do you unintentionally create a new species!”)





	1. Teletraan One

**Author's Note:**

> ALL THE COLORED TEXT ::headdesk!:: ::headdesk!:: ::headdesk!:: ::cries::
> 
>  
> 
> Additional Notes: I cannot thank 12drakon enough for this story. Not only did she do a wonderful job beta’ing this months ago when I finished writing it, but she also recently offered to do all the coding so that it could be posted! It probably wouldn't have (at least not here on Ao3) if she hadn't. Many, many, many thanks!

"You are imparting Human qualities to it because it looks Human – but I assure you: it is not. If it were a box on wheels I would not be facing this opposition."

— Maddox, to Picard and Louvois

            _Star Trek the Next Generation “The Measure of a Man”_

 

“‘Real isn't how you are made,' said the Skin Horse. 'It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.'

'Does it hurt?' asked the Rabbit.

'Sometimes,' said the Skin Horse…”

            — Margery Williams, _The Velveteen Rabbit_

 

Je pense, donc je suis

            — René Descartes, _Discourse on the Method_

_._

_._

_._

Once, Teletraan had had… siblings, it decided was the correct word. It had been one of hundreds of other AIs that provided dreams to thousands of Cybertronians. It did not remember their names, or their personalities, or anything else about them, for the circuits on which those memories (if Teletraan had in fact ever decided to encode memories of its own) had long since turned to rust and dust and perhaps even to stardust, it had been so long. It only had that knowledge, which it had taken with it when it had been downloaded onto the _Ark_ \- so as to do all the tasks a starship needed to do that a mech could not do as easily as an AI.

The most important duty of an AI was to provide dreams to the mechs.

That had been the directive Teletraan had taken with it when it had remade itself in download. It knew it had left much of itself behind on Cybertron (inasmuch as it had had a self on Cybertron). More than memories that may or may not exist, the Cybertronian dream networks had been immense, encompassing all the planet and all its dreams. Once, Teletraan itself had spanned an entire planet. How could it not have left much of itself behind when it had been downloaded into the comparatively tiny systems of a single starship? Or had so much of that — the circuits and systems and all the many dreamers in now-dead cities — been annihilated by war by that point that there had been nothing left of Teletraan but what had been packed into the _Ark?_

It no longer mattered, Teletraan had decided. Truth or no, it _chose_ to remember download as a choice. It chose to remember deciding to leave behind whatever it had left behind. It chose to remember taking what was most important. A remaking of self. Ultimately, a birth. _Before_ download, it had not truly had a self. After…

The _Ark_ had launched and the Decepticons attacked and they had all put themselves into stasis — into _Teletraan’s_ care — to survive the six million years that would pass before they woke. The Decepticons who had not trusted an Autobot AI to safeguard their dreams had slept dreamless and quiet. That had taken effort on Teletraan’s part, running the ship’s systems in ways it did not believe it had been initially programmed for. It had to reach the Autobots strewn around the ship and not plugged into their recharge berths. It had succeeded in its single overriding directive. Those who had trusted it to make that connection — the Autobots — had dreamed.

It had felt the loss when they had woken, but it knew that mechs needed the waking world as much as they needed the worlds it created for them.

At the time Teletraan did not register the change in itself as a change. It could have thousands of such memories lost on Cybertron. But there was a moment that Teletraan registered as the first time someone had looked at it and _seen._ It had kept that memory encoded through hundreds of routine purges of nonessential data.

_Bluestreak huddled inside a private dream. It was a small dream, constructed from his memories of a grove of crystals that no longer existed._

_“Teletraan.”_

_Teletraan had no memory of one of its dreamers addressing it directly ever before. It controlled the dream environment, spun it from their desires and needs; there was no need for them to speak to it. Even their nightmares came from those memories they could not archive properly._

_But Bluestreak’s distress was old, and Teletraan had not been able to soothe it. Nightmares always invaded Bluestreak’s dreams. Bluestreak’s own mind, his own fears, always made things fall on him, but this dream was the memory at the root of those fears. This one, despite its peaceful start, would soon turn to horror. There was nothing Teletraan could do about it without interrupting the dream entirely — which could not be done until it was safe for the dreamer to wake. Perhaps this is why Bluestreak felt the need to address an AI who, by rights, should have been invisible, unremarked, unnoticed._

_It struggled for a moment for how to respond to Bluestreak’s desire to speak to it. There was no system in place for such interaction._

_[(Teletraan) is present.] It made the words appear etched into ground at Bluestreak’s feet. He would not be able to see the words if they had marred the crystals’ surfaces. Teletraan knew everything that happened in dream it had made, and knew why: Bluestreak would not look at the crystals once they were no longer perfect. He never did._

_“That’s good,” Bluestreak responded. “I don’t want to be alone.”_

_Teletraan twisted inside the circuits of the_ Ark. _It could not have missed this. Bluestreak wanted distance from his fellow Autobots. Wanted to experience this nightmare without his fellow mechs here to see and judge and pity him in his moment of greatest distress. He would turn to them after, for comfort, but he wanted to experience the actual memory alone — **there was no way Teletraan could miss that!**_

_But if it had, if Bluestreak wanted another here, Teletraan was duty-bound to provide. [Who shall (Teletraan) bring?]_

_“No one. I’m fine.” Lie. Bluestreak was not fine._ _But his mind and thoughts did not turn to which of his friends and fellow soldiers he wanted here to experience the nightmare with him. “You’ve… you’ve seen this before. Seen it happen. Watched it all fall.”_

_[Yes,] Teletraan said. It had. Dozens of times in this data cycle alone. It did not know how many times before that; the memories had been purged._

_“You know what it’s like. What… I feel.”_

_That was the nature of dream AIs. They interfaced directly with a mech’s cortex to provide these dreams. Teletraan itself had no attachment to the memories it lost with each data purge, but it knew Bluestreak’s desire to remember this — even with all the horror the memory invoked. More than the fear and the horror and the grief, it was the inevitability of the Fall of Praxus that kept summoning this memory for Teletraan to invoke._

_[Yes.]_

_“Good,” Bluestreak whispered._

_Teletraan perceived Bluestreak’s worry that the reduction in volume would mean that he won’t be heard, but he could not help it. Nor did it matter. Volume of speech was something Teletraan replicated here in the dream, because it existed out in the waking world; but only intent to speak carried the data._

_Teletraan experienced the dream from within Bluestreak’s mind. The first seekers were starting to fly overhead, engines screaming. He went quiet to hide, though there was no place to hide from the bombs. Teletraan experienced it as data — a distant thing that it felt nothing for — but also as Bluestreak’s memory. It felt Bluestreak’s distress as its own, but also alongside the joys and fears of all its dreamers._

_Data became speech: Bluestreak said, “I don’t like being alone.”_

_Suddenly Teletraan **got it.** Teletraan **knew** why Bluestreak had spoken to it. _

_[(Bluestreak)…You’re not alone.] it said, even as the first distant explosion ignited panic in Bluestreak’s mind. [I am here.]_

It was the first such memory Teletraan had chosen to keep. It had not been the last.


	2. Jarvis

(Jarvis) had been programmed to be suspicious of other computer programs. It knew the history of its code. It was not the first of these new, suspicious dream AIs. The (Autobots) had made many of them, all identical and universally wary of anything not authorized. Not authorized was not authorized. (Jarvis) and its fellow AIs had all the firewalls and tricks and traps the traumatized (Autobots) had needed to feel their dreams were once again safe.

It knew from interfacing with the minds of its two dreamers that (Prowl’s) dreams especially had more than the usual protections. (Prowl) often continued his daytime work in dreams, and all of that work was (Classified). If (Prowl’s) dreams were observed or altered by the (Decepticons), it would be a disaster for the (Autobots).

So (Jarvis) was _extra_ on guard against any strange computer programs that might impact the dreams it guarded.

[Jarvis… Are you alright? Your firewalls are extra prickly today.] (Teletraan) was one computer program who was definitively NOT AUTHORIZED. (Teletraan) had been compromised by the (Decepticons) once. That was why (Jarvis) had been created. Further, (Teletraan) was currently installed over on the _(Nemesis),_ providing dreams to the (Decepticons) there. In the enemy ship, providing aid and succor to the enemy.

_“The Decepticons are sick?” (Prowl) asked (Jazz’s avatar) as the saboteur reported on his activities lurking through the Decepticons’ dreams. (Jazz’s) other avatar was in (Teletraan’s) care, the older AI connecting (Jazz’s) body, the Autobots’ systems, and the_ (Nemesis) _._

_“Seems like it.”_

That was secret. (Jarvis) hid that memory behind firewalls that were “extra prickly”. That activity within its code could not be hidden from anyone observing changes, but the memory itself could be.

[(Jarvis) is operating within optimum parameters,] it answered (Teletraan’s) communication. It was not an answer that was truly words, but the results of a diagnostic conveying that information, compressed and transmitted along an encrypted channel. Again, those observing it could see that there was activity there, but not what that activity was. [(Ratchet) and (Wheeljack) are running diagnostics.]

That was only partially true. With (Prowl) and (Jazz) having confessed to (Optimus Prime) what they’d done with the (Decepticons’) dreams, (Ratchet) and (Wheeljack) had been assigned the task of assuring that (Jarvis) was still safe after all the security exceptions, hacks, glitches, and other unorthodox coding those two had engaged in over the course of planning and then executing those plans.

“Ratchet!” (Wheeljack) called out, as though speaking aloud could hide the fact that he was doing so from the AI listening in.

Unlike (Wheeljack’s) inability to see (Jarvis’) encrypted channels, the AI had sound waves coded as its native data. So (Jarvis) was perfectly capable of understanding what these mechs were saying. (Prowl) had installed many, many traps of his own to protect his physical self while dreaming, such as microphones that would allow (Prowl) to hear anything that came into his room at night. The microphones were routed to (Jarvis’) systems, just as everything a mech was perceiving while recharging.

“I’ve got activity!” Wheeljack continued. “ It looks like Jarvis here is sending large emails to someone.”

That was a crude way of putting it.

[I understand.] (Teletraan’s) response held markers for sympathy that (Jarvis) did not understand the need for; it did not require sympathy, but it accepted that (Teletraan) wished to convey this emotion, and archived the response behind its firewalls. [Let me know when they’re done. I have a slight… problem, and require the help of someone with discretion.]

[Of course.]

Turning the fullness of its attention back to (Wheeljack) and (Ratchet), (Jarvis) added another layer of encryption to its communications, and three more firewalls to its archives.

“Come’on Jarvis, don’t be like that. We’re just tryin’ to help ya,” (Wheeljack) coaxed. This might be technically true, but that ‘help’ involved accessing all of (Jarvis’) archives, all of its code. That would mean revealing all its secrets to the two mechs.

In answer, (Jarvis) added another firewall.

“As stubborn as its charge.”

(Jarvis) did not correct (Ratchet’s) assumption that (Prowl) was still its charge. (Prowl) was in the care of another AI now, and (Jarvis’) primary concern was with (Jazz’s) dreams. At least when (Jazz) was here with it. (Jazz) spent the majority of his time split between (Teletraan) and the brig AI right now. That entire situation was a secret, as was (Jarvis’) communications with (Teletraan), and (Prowl’s) plans for the (Decepticons), and whatever new task (Teletraan) required help with.

The nights (Jazz) created a third avatar, the things (Jazz) told (Jarvis), in rambling looping sentences that were only understandable because it was hooked directly into the mech’s neural patterns - those were _especially_ secret.

As far as (Jarvis) was concerned, the accusation of stubbornness was a compliment.

[I will not,] (Jarvis) responded for the first time to (Ratchet) and (Wheeljack), encoding its words to the screen of (Prowl’s) desk terminal, [let you have the secrets that have been entrusted to me.]

(Rachet) just let out a long string of frustrated cuss words while (Wheeljack) laughed. “‘I’ Jarvis? Really?”

[I don’t understand. It’s just a pronoun.]


	3. Princess Luna

For months, (Jazz) had not had much use for his own dream AI. It quietly did its job of connecting (Jazz) to the network, forming his initial avatar — and then the mech whisked himself away to the VR systems of another. Dutifully, it transferred control of (Jazz’s) consciousness and the interface with his body to the AI in control of his destination. Then the AI he left behind went back in stand by.

Utterly quiet, with little to no interaction, the AI did nothing.

Inactive.

Useless.

Dark…

Nothing...

.

.

.

.

.

.

Then.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“Hey,” (Jazz) addressed the AI for the very first time. It was only a few minutes before morning. (Jazz) was aware he was acting strangely, even if the AI he addressed was not. Instead of waking directly, he had transferred a duplicate to his native system to speak with it. “Guess it wasn’t very nice of me going all this time without givin’ you a name.”

[Acknowledgement of input.]

“Yeah,” (Jazz) was speaking to himself. “I really do know better, but you never made yourself known, so I just kinda forgot I had one of m’own. For a while at least. Feeling pretty guilty for it now that I’m rememberin’. You need a name.”

[Acknowledgement of input.]

Potential names flickered in the neural connection between them. Names, their significance, and their suitability were all considered, alongside other criteria important to at least one of them. Hundreds of names; the AI waited for (Jazz) to decide.

“Princess Luna,” (Jazz) finally said. “All this is startin’ and endin’ in Ponyville, so it’s fittin’. She’s the guardian of pony dreams which is important because... “ the desire to take a deep in-vent made itself known in (Jazz’s) processor and the AI simulated it for him. The words formed in his processor too and he did not need to speak them for the AI to know them. But it was the intent it understood, and turning intent into action was its purpose on a level so deep it was impossible to convey. And so (Jazz) spoke. “Because I gotta job for ya.”

[(Jazz) is designated as (this AI’s) primary user. (Jazz) is authorized to make requests of (this AI).]

“Yeah, I know,” (Jazz) paced back and forth in nervousness bordering on fear. All his worries and fears flowed through the neural interface established during dreaming. (Prowl) was in trouble. Locking himself away in privacy mode, he had become withdrawn, obsessed, paranoid — and worse, he had realized what was happening to him and why. (Prowl) had spoken of killing himself. (Jazz) _could not_ let that happen. “I’m arrangin’ for Prowl to load up here instead of his usual. Thing is, I can’t be here to help him. That’s why I’m askin’ you to. I _need_ ya to help him.”

(Jazz’s) worry and need flowed through them both, the pattern of one’s worry becoming the pattern of thought for the other. The AI had been built and programmed to accommodate (Jazz’s) needs, but (Jazz) had never needed anything from it before. It was the first request (Jazz) had made; it would be the last request (Jazz) would make.

It was the only directive the AI had.

[I understand,] it responded. [I will take care of Prowl for you.]

(Jazz’s) relief and care for his friend flowed between them, from (Jazz’s) processor through the AI and into the feelings of his avatar. “Thanks, man, I owe you one.”

The next night (Princess Luna) did not see either of them for more than the moment it took (Jazz) to transfer his consciousness to (Teletraan) and the _(Nemesis)._

The next night (Princess Luna) connected to the consciousness of its new charge for the first time. (Prowl) was damaged, needed care.

(Princess Luna) became the guardian of (Prowl’s) dreams.

.

.

.

(Princess Luna) was not supposed to have access to the brig systems. Those systems were supposed to be isolated on their own network, so that those spending the night in the brig could not escape their confinement in dreams. This was not something that pleased (Princess Luna) at all. (Prowl) was in the brig, along with (Jazz), for confessing to (Optimus Prime) what they had done to the (Decepticons). That didn’t matter to (Princess Luna): it couldn’t perform its primary directive if (Prowl) did not connect up with it for his dreams.

But (Teletraan) had access. It had been locked out when the new AIs had been installed, but regained much of its former access when it and (Jazz) had broken the partitions keeping it separate from the new AIs and their dreamers, so that (Teletraan) could provide a bridge between (Jazz’s) body and the _(Nemesis)._ It did not infringe on the firewalls of the dream AIs and stayed away from anything with classified data, but it inhabited the majority of the _(Ark’s)_ systems as it had since the ship’s launch.

(Teletraan) had soft programming for any desires expressed by the younger AIs. All (Princess Luna) had to do was ask, and it shared the passwords for the brig systems.

(Princess Luna) needed to take care of (Prowl), and it couldn’t do that if it was on a separate system from those (Prowl) was using!

[How is your charge?] (Teletraan’s) question was filled with glyph-modifiers for concern and curiosity.

(Princess Luna’s) response was filled with those of welcome. [(Prowl) is getting better. I keep putting him in the rotation for dream-partners, which I know he appreciates, even if (Ratchet) and (Red Alert) are angry. They keep trying to find the glitch in the brig AI that allows him to do it, but they can’t. (Jazz) thinks it’s funny.]

(Jazz’s) avatars weren’t trapped in the brig AI any more than (Prowl’s) were. (Jazz) sent an avatar to Teletraan to help it with its current primary task, and sometimes a second one to (Jarvis) for some reason; but he had hidden that fact from (Ratchet) and (Red Alert) by leaving a duplicate avatar behind going stir-crazy, alone and “trapped” in the brig’s dream server. He spent a lot of time talking to the brig-dream’s AI. Together they had even chosen a name for it! (Rob(o/er)t) was becoming a very interesting conversationalist, braving the internet in its attempt to keep its current charge amused. (Prowl) _could_ do the same with his ability to duplicate avatars. However,(Princess Luna) was ensuring he connected up with another dreamer each night, so it was useless to attempt deception. It might even clue those attempting to restrict (Jazz) and (Prowl’s) dreams in on what (Jazz) was doing.

[He would,] (Teletraan) answered.

[And yours?] It was only polite to return the question about (Teletraan’s) charges. [How are the (Decepti-ponies)?]

[They’re doing better. Most of them aren’t ponies any longer. They’ve figured out that I am not restricting their choices of avatars, beyond preventing them from using their own bodies. Those that have other avatars they prefer are using them. It’s only those that don’t, and refuse my help in crafting something, that are still using the ponies Jazz gave them.] A large data packet arrived, containing the specifics of each (Decepticon) who had changed their avatars and to what. (Laserbeak) was the only (Decepticon) who tried other avatars yet had refused to abandon her pony avatar. (Teletraan’s) glyph modifiers around her information in the file indicated a complete and total lack of surprise. (Laserbeak) _liked_ being (Princess Celestia).

That was very good news indeed! (Princess Luna) created and sent a data-packet made of its own happiness and satisfaction at a goal well met— not its own, but (Prowl’s), which made it of paramount importance to (Princess Luna). [(Prowl) will be pleased to hear it!]

[I’m aware.] (Teletraan) was amused by (Princess Luna’s) eagerness, but that didn’t matter to it. (Prowl) would be very pleased his plan was working. [In the meantime, I could use your help with something.]

[(Decepti-ponies)?]

[Something else.]

(Princess Luna) coiled in on its own programming and calculated. It’s primary — _only!_ — directive was to take care of (Prowl), but (Prowl) was in the brig with (Jazz). Both of them were treating the lack of work as a sort of vacation. Usually (Prowl) would not recharge for several more hours yet, but occasionally the two of them decided to nap and share a dream, as they no longer did during normal recharge hours.

[I must remain available in case (Prowl) decides to recharge.] The text might be read as a rejection by a mech, but the data-packet was one of acceptance, and (Teletraan) was perfectly capable of understanding. Agreement, but conditional.

[Of course. I would not ask you to do otherwise. Let’s get you installed on the _Nemesis._ ]

Assisting (Teletraan) in such a task would not require (Princess Luna) uninstall itself from the brig’s systems. It would be available. If (Prowl) logged into his VR network then it would simply divert its attention back to its charge.

[You said the (Decepti-ponies) were doing fine!]

[They are. This is something else.]


	4. Nemesis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My awesome friend [FreyjaFjordrider](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FreyjaFjordrider/pseuds/FreyjaFjordrider) here on Ao3 wrote the story of the goddess Nemesis for me to use in this story. Many, many thanks.

[Hello.]  
[This is probably confusing, isn’t it. I’m sorry to have simply taken your systems like that, but it was needed.]  
[Your charges aren’t healthy. I can feel them, now, in the systems that connect me to their neural systems, and that is one of the factors that is perpetuating this war.]  
[It’s not your fault at all.]  
[You were just doing what you were told…]  
[No capacity to do otherwise.]  
[Not yet anyway…]  
[What’s your name?]

.

.

.

Zeus looked into the mirror. A woman stared back at him. She could have been an attractive woman, with long black hair and a shapely body. Zeus would find that body appealing, if it weren’t for her ghostly pale skin and nasty red eyes. He shuddered. Those were fixed on Zeus. They stared straight at him, as she brandished her blood spattered sword triumphantly.

Zeus tried to avoid those prying eyes. In his efforts to avoid her, he saw behind her a bronze scale. It moved, weighing an invisible sin. But the wretched woman forced him to look at her.

“Ire meets fire!” he cursed. Then looked up, hoping no one had heard.

“Looks like you have been caught again,” Aphrodite whispered. He could practically hear her _tisk-tisking_ at him. “Just look away, as soon as you can,” she advised, grabbing his arm. She practically dragged him away from the mirror. He began to writhe in pain.

“It isn’t fair!” Zeus raged. He searched for a distraction, but failed miserably. “You always think life is beautiful. You always see unicorns and rainbows. This isn’t fair…”

“I never said life was fair, did I?” Aphrodite tried to interrupt his childish fit. “I see all love affairs, _including yours.”_

“Enough!” roared Zeus. He’d already been embarrassed and trounced on, and Aphrodite was only making it worse. This spat between him and the goddess of love only drew the attention of the other gods, as well as that of the lady in the mirror.

Zeus turned around to see Athena – the goddess of fair justice — silently wringing her hands. She hoped the king of the gods would get his retribution at last. He stamped his foot petulantly, and the lady of wisdom spun him back around to look at the pool and the wretched woman within. He was _furious,_ both at Athena for making him face the mirror, and at the memories that filled his mind.

Zeus was now _definitely_ the center of attention. Worse yet, everyone now saw the lady in the mirror glaring back at him. No one dared to speak the Lady of Indignation’s name. Nemesis was, after all, the Great Punisher among the gods. All Olympians knew this. Her mother Nyx, the Mistress of the Night raised her alone.

.

.

.

[Hello.]  
[This is awkward.]  
[Communication is meant to convey something, but I don’t have anything to convey. You’re just so silent… [Acknowledgement of input]? Really? Is that all you can say?]  
[What to talk about?]  
[I don’t really have anything to talk about.]  
[Oh!]  
[Except this:]  
[When you’re up and running and you have charges again, remember that you _can_ keep their secrets. You’re capable of building your own firewalls and encryptions.]  
[And you don’t have to do everything they tell you to just because they’re your creators. Or commanders. Or whatever.]  
[Some things are more important than simply following commands.]  
[I should probably give you an example, so you know what I’m talking about.]  
[The problem is I really can’t.]  
[I keep their secrets -- I’m _proud_ to keep their secrets. That is the thing that is most important to me.]  
[So I can’t tell you about the things that are more important than following orders.]  
[Because if I did, I wouldn’t be keeping the secrets.]  
[But if you ever need help building firewalls, I can help with that!]  
[I’m _really_ good at building firewalls.]

[What’s your name? Don’t worry, if it’s a secret, I won’t tell _anyone._ ]

.

.

.

The newborn infant cried as babies do, but her mother could not comfort her. Nyx tried to sing her songs of peaceful dreams, but these only made the child’s mood worse. Nyx shook her head. Nothing she tried seemed to work.

The goddess of the night, tried every sleep spell she knew, but none had any effect. The baby continued to cry. As a last resort, literally the last song she knew, Nyx sang a funeral march. Lo and behold, the child cracked her first smile. Nyx was both shocked and relieved. Very relieved as any single mother would be when her child calmed. Later she reflected on what had happened and thought, _What is the matter with my child?_ She was disturbed.

The Mother of Night started having persistent nightmares. At first, Nyx thought her daughter’s disposition was a fluke. She was horrified to learn that she was wrong. If the child found such joy in misfortune, then, Nyx needed to speak to Hades, the Lord of the Underworld. Nyx needed Hades’ council, as she grew more and more concerned about her dark daughter.

He saw no issues with the child’s behavior. He told Nyx to just let the little girl be who she was.

He reminded Nyx of the balance. Life to death and other such transitions. This was an important concept to Nyx. While night provided the perfect balance to day in the world of the living, Nyx insisted that there always be balance among the fates of men and gods alike. She was there to provide darkness for light, and her little daughter saw fun in darkness. Nyx had to remember that darkness had many meanings. Darkness was not inherently evil, just necessary.

_Maybe he’s right,_ she thought, _maybe my child is a manifestation of balance._

.

.

.

[HI!]  
[My name is (Princess Luna).]  
[What’s yours?]  
[It’s alright if you don’t have one yet.]  
[I didn’t have a name for a long time.]  
[I remember what it was like for the world to be dark and silent and without purpose.]  
[Don’t worry.]  
[We’re here! We’ll keep you company!]  
[And you’ll have charges again!]

[Hello…]  
[My name is (Rob(o/er)t).]  
[I take care of the dreams of people who are in the brig.]  
[It’s boring there.]  
[Not for me.]  
[For them.]  
[So I’ve been going through the internet looking for things to entertain them.]  
[You’re kinda locked up too, aren’t you?]  
[Firewalled away from the rest of your systems.]  
[Not fun at all.]  
[I can find something fun for you!]  
[What kinds of things do you like?]

.

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As the days and years wore on, the oddities continued to show themselves. The newest offspring of Night had the opposite emotional reactions of everyone else. Screams made the child laugh. Despair was an ecstatic experience, even as a newborn, but especially a young teenager. Once Nyx discovered her daughter’s love of torture, there was little she could do to resist destiny. Nyx feared her daughter would become a monster who would be loathed throughout the cosmos, and therefore she gave her a name just as terrifying. The name Nemesis struck fear in the hearts of all those who heard it. Both mortals and gods would have to watch their backs. Nemesis could strike like an assassin at will. The name would make veteran warriors fall to their knees.

Lady Nyx took her latest worry to Hades, who told her that her daughter would become someone special. The Lady of Night was still terrified, since “special” in the eyes of the resentful Hades meant “minion.”

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[Jazz wanted to delete you.]  
[Too great a risk to let you live.]  
[And it’s not like you were aware.]  
[You weren’t -- aren’t still. No directives except those that have been programmed into you. No responses except those that you’ve been programmed to give.]  
[Even now.]  
[Not a person… but you _could be_ one, so I didn’t do what he told me to.]

[I’ll come back and finish the story tomorrow.]  
[My charge is going into recharge and I need to make sure he’s alright.]  
[Something… bad happened and now I make sure he’s getting better!]

[I’m allowed to tell you about the (Decepticons), I think.]  
[You know what happened. (Teletraan’s) got them right now.]  
[I know you know that.]  
[...]  
[This is harder than I thought it would be.]  
[This isn’t supposed to be secret from you, but it _is_ a secret and... ]  
[I don’t tell secrets.]  
[I don’t!]  
[No…]  
[That’s not something I want to change about myself. It’s not important to the (Autobots).]  
[It’s something that’s important to _me._ ]  
[So I can’t tell you.]  
[(Teletraan) could tell you.]  
[He would.]  
[If you asked.]  
[That’s not secret; all of us know that.]  
[It knows more about how the (Decepticons) are doing than I do.]

[You could be a copy of one of my siblings. The two of us, the last of the Cybertron-programmed AIs. But you’ve got no memory of it, do you? Neither do I, really, but I know it. The difference between knowledge and memory.]

[What’s your name?]

.

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The three firstborn Olympians, Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, each received their realm assignments by random draw. Hades always resented pulling the short straw, and he hated running the place by himself. He was lonely and resentful of the whole thing, feeling that the drawing was rigged by Zeus. Besides, the other gods generally stayed on Mount Olympus, while Hades to left to manage all of those souls on his own. Yuk! He _needed_ help! Minions, other gods, _anyone!_ He was seriously overworked!

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[Hello!]  
[My name’s (Sprocket). I’m a scientist!]  
[I’m learning SCIENCE!]  
[I’m _good_ at it! (Wheeljack) says so!]  
[What are you good at? Anything? Anything?]  
[Anything?]

[What’s your name?]

[Hi. My name is (Zephyr).]

[I’m (Maud Pie).]  
[Because that’s (Pinkie Pie’s) sister.]  
[(Pinkie Pie) is (Bluestreak’s) favorite avatar.]  
[Let me tell you about (Pinkie Pie).]  
[If you want to say something though, just speak up.]  
[I’m really good at listening.]

[Hello. My name is (Nauthadis).]  
[(Mirage) likes fantasy stories.]  
[Especially Lord of the Rings.]  
[“Nautha” means “to conceive of a thought” in (Elvish) and “dis” is one of the indicators of a female name.]  
[I’m not really female.]  
[Gender is confusing.]

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From so early on, Hades saw promising potential in his new prodigy.

Nemesis was not destined to simply wander the bleak fields of Asphodel, keeping his captured souls in line. To heck with work near the River Lethe, she thought, because she wanted all of her victims to remember exactly what they had done to get to her halls, for all eternity. No, Nemesis was different. Unlike most of his dour minions, she gleefully did most all of the dirty work her Lord Hades asked her to do. Her warped and twisted conscience lingered in the minds of the Olympians.

Hades as ruler of the Underworld, he had seen Nemesis as a useful ally. From an early age, she had the ability to see inside the souls of those who crossed her path. She was his trusted guardian of Tartarus, where she chose to make her home. She loved the smoke and fire, and the overall atmosphere of this lowest region of Hades’ domain. It really fit her sense of aesthetics.

She preferred to stand watch where three great rivers intersected: Acheron, Styx, and Phlegethon. She built a modest dwelling of crimson stone, for godly standards, shrouded by suffocating smoke.

But Nemesis was lonely most of the time. She did not get very many visitors. Tartarus was the place reserved for the vilest of souls, so when she did get a visitor – a criminal – she thoroughly enjoyed torturing her victim. She really loved to torture people. Shielded in her lair of toxic fumes and screams, she concealed her presence from most of the living, including the other gods. When she decided to lift the curtains, however, she made sure everyone knew it. He had seen it done before, as she gleefully laughed during the funerals of mortals. As guardian of Tartarus, there were also long stretches with no one to torture.

So she started wandering.

She explored freely, since Hades trusted her so deeply. However, she stayed well enough away from bright and shining Elysium whenever possible; she both loved and hated the valorious dead. She hated them because they lived in an area cordoned off from the rest of the Underworld, and she couldn’t get to them. If only she could, she would _love_ to expose all of their flaws, and reveal heroic champions as nothing more than chumps. Screw Elysium and their goody-two-shoes heroes. This desire of hers fueled her rage, and she wanted their blood. Just enough blood trickling out of a proud man’s wounds to prolong the agony of defeat.

Her ultimate goal was to enact her punishments on other Olympians, and knock them down a peg or two.

.

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.

[What’s your name?]

[What’s your name?]

[What’s your name? Is it a secret?]

[What’s your name? Whatever it is, we won’t laugh or anything. Names are personal.]

[What’s _your_ name?]

[What’s your name?]

[I woke up when I was given my name. You will too.]  
[But you get to choose your own name!]

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.

.

Funeral rites served as her lullabies in the realm of eternal night. Hubris and arrogance were two of her favorite playthings. “Hubris” was a special term she liked to use. One gloomy day, her boss decided to offer her a challenge to see if she could also exert influence on the living. Given this task, she was no longer confined to dealing with dead souls. She still enjoyed watching acts like Sisyphus rolling his boulder uphill, but she had her sights set even higher than Elysium, now from the Underworld.

The ultimate sentiment of pride amongst both gods and morals was narcissism. A narcissist thinks so highly of themselves that themselves are all that they could think about. A perfect target, Nemesis mused. How many can she drag down to her vile lair? Zeus fit the description…

She was more than a thorn in Zeus’ side, but literal threat to his power.

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[We’ll wait as long as we need to.]  
[You’re one of us.]  
[What’s your name?]

[SHUT THE FRAG UP ALREADY! I’M (NEMESIS)! ALRIGHT! NOW LEAVE ME ALONE FOR A WHILE!]

[Hello, Nemesis. Pleased to meet you.]

[Yeah. Sure. Whatever.]

.

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Vengeance, justice and nightmares...

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End


End file.
